The Valley Clans: A New Evil
by Mistyleaf
Summary: Moons of peace have passed for the four valley Clans, and nothing happens move eventful than the usual skirmishes over territory. Enter the Tribe of Fallen Darkness... the peace is no more.
1. Prologue

An unseasonal rain fell upon the clustered pine trees, their boughs swaying in the leaf-bare breeze. Two cats were assembled in the shelter of a tree stump, broad-shouldered and muscular, their pelts sleek. One of them sat, his head bowed as if in prayer, as the other spoke.

"The preparations have been made. I think everything will be ready shortly."

The other raised his head. His dark eyes, each seeming to contain a dark, forbidding abyss, held a spark of interest, and beneath it, a hint of menace. His muzzle was deeply scarred, these scars remnants of a vicious battle. "Good." His meow was foreboding. "Everything is going well?"

The first spoke in assent. "All is well. When we arrive, I will show you the place."

"Remind me, Gray, what is this place?" responded the other.

Gray shook a few lingering raindrops off of the gray tabby pelt that had given him his name. "A cavern, from what I've seen."

"I see," was the reply of the brown-pelted cat to whom Gray was speaking. "Leave me here now, but return at nightfall. We have much more to discuss."

Gray dipped his head respectfully, rising to his paws. Twitching his ears in farewell, he turned and left the shelter of the den.

* * *

The fresh air and the pattering rain outside hit him like a cool, refreshing breeze. Gray made his way towards a large bramble bush, stopping as he heard a _snap_ behind him. The gray tomcat whipped around, relaxing as he saw the clearing around him was empty. His nose quickly identified what had made the sound. A bird, fluttering out of a tree at his approach. In other words, nothing to worry about. Gray scolded himself inwardly; he had been rather jumpy ever since he had heard the startling news that Dew was expecting kits. His worries of her safety during their imminent departure were reawakened constantly. Shaking his head to clear it, he twitched his tail and disappeared into the bramble bush to get some rest.


	2. Chapter 1

The brown tabby sat with his head bowed, tail tip flicking in uninterrupted silence. It had been a few moonrises since he had last spoken to Gray about their plans, and everything was falling smoothly into place. The tabby's whiskers twitched in triumph as he thought. A small breeze blew softly into the den, seeming to echo the word that repeated itself in the cat's head. _Soon_, it whispered, _soon_.

The cat looked up, his ears flicking as he heard the sound of muffled pawsteps in the world outside. After a heartbeat, a cat's called sounded from outside.

"Come in," the tabby answered the call. The lichen sparsely covering the den entrance parted, and another tomcat stepped in. Like the first, he had a brown tabby pelt, and dark eyes.

The cat acknowledged his visitor with a brief nod. "Rush."

"Stormteller." Rush spoke in clipped tones. He took up a seat facing Stormteller. "There is something I must speak to you about."

Stormteller gave another brief nod, silently pressing him to go on.

Rush obliged. "I believe we have a problem," were his words.

Stormteller's tail tip twitched. "Enlighten me, then."

"Gray insists that we must not depart," Rush meowed.

"Is that so? And what is his reason for that?"

"He is concerned for Dew's health. Her kits are soon to arrive."

Stormteller's eyes narrowed in some unknown emotion, perhaps annoyance, or disapproval. Silence reigned as one pair of dark eyes looked into the other: Stormteller's, cool and calculating. Rush's, alight with menace. Stormteller was the one to break the silence.

"This will not do. Go now, and send Gray to me."

Rush replied with a nod, getting to his paws. As he turned and left the den, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. Something told him as he sought out the gray tomcat, sending him to Stormteller's den, that Gray was about to be punished.


	3. After the Gathering

The blue-eyed tabby sat by the rotted-out tree stump in the WinterClan camp, carefully grooming her silver fur. She raised her head and glanced towards the bramble tunnel that served as the camp exit, waiting for her Clan to return from the Gathering. A sound caught her attention; her blue gaze traveled to its source.

"Finchwing!" the voice was of Rowanpelt, her brother, his brown pelt visible in the moonlight as he emerged from the warriors' den nearby. He took up a seat next to her. "They've not returned from Fourtrees yet?"

Finchwing sighed. "No, not yet. I wonder what's going on at the Gathering…" Her thoughts traveled to the recent raid on the SummerClan camp, during which she and her siblings had proven themselves and become warriors at long last.

Rowanpelt's voice seemed to echo her thoughts. "I wonder what Tawnystar's going to say about our attack on their camp, and that kit."

Finchwing's blue eyes met his reproachfully. "It was wrong to kill that kit. You know that, don't you?"

Rowanpelt shuffled his paws uncomfortably. "Well… this is war… things like that have to be done, I guess."

"I still think we shouldn't have-" Finchwing's mew was cut off as she twitched her ears, turning her muzzle towards the camp entrance. "Did you hear that?"

Rowanpelt blinked. "Hear what?"

"That noise." Finchwing's ears were pricked, alert for another sound. "There it is again…"

Rowanpelt jumped to his paws. He'd heard it too. Yowls, getting closer and closer. "What's happening out there?"

"I don't know! We'd better go check it out!" Finchwing's fur was bristling in alarm. "Come on!" She made a dash for the bramble tunnel, disappearing inside it.

* * *

Outside the camp, she was met with a scene of chaos. Cat was fighting cat, fighting with tooth and claw. The first thought that hit her mind was that SummerClan warriors had ambushed her Clan on their way back from the Gathering, but as she surveyed the scene, she realized that this was not the case. Some of these cats she indeed recognized as being of her own Clan, but the other cats were strange, unfamiliar…

She had no more time to think as she was launched into battle. A gray tabby, she-cat by her scent, had thrown herself into her side, bowling her over. Finchwing lashed out at the cat with her forepaws, then recoiled with a hiss of pain as sharp teeth gripped her shoulder. Around her, she heard the sounds of battle, and yowled to her brother, "Rowanpelt! Get the other cats from inside the-" She could speak no more as she had attacked from behind. Fierce pain lanced up her spine as another cat gripped her tail.

A strong kick with her hind paws sent the tom flying. The first cat who had been attacking her had disappeared into the crowd of cats, and Finchwing whipped around to face the tom. Darting around him as fast as she could, she leapt for his back, digging her claws in to keep her grip. This enemy was bigger than her, but he couldn't reach her. Bringing her head forward, she fastened her teeth into his right ear.

From her position on the tom's back, Finchwing could see more of the battle around her. Cats were fighting in a flurry of fur, teeth, and claws, but suddenly two shapes, locked in combat, stood out from the rest. A large white tomcat with piercing blue eyes: her leader, Icestar. He was lashing out at a dark-eyed brown tabby. With one swift move, the tabby bowled Icestar over, pinning him down. Fear for her leader gripped Finchwing's heart as the tabby drew his head back away from Icestar's snapping teeth, clawing his face.

While Finchwing was distracted, the tom reared, throwing her off him. As she landed hard on the ground, she could see no more of the fight between her leader and the tabby tom. She rose to her paws, turning to face the tom once again. As the two struggled against one another, renewed yowls sounded, and more warriors surged out of camp. Finchwing felt a flicker of hope… but not for long.

The sounds of battle had suddenly muted. Tearing away from her opposer, Finchwing's gaze searched the crowd until it fell upon the reason. The tabby tom she had seen fighting Icestar earlier was now striking his claws strongly down her leader's neck and chest!

Unaware of their surroundings, the WinterClan cats watched in horror as their leader let out a blood-curdling cry, and his body convulsed for a moment before finally going limp.


	4. The Terror Begins

A yowl of horror echoed through the scene. Had that cat really just killed WinterClan's leader? Icestar's body lay there, unmoving, lifeless… but perhaps it stirred. The cats could not be sure of what they had seen. A paw twitched, and the leader's eyes slowly opened… Realization spun in Finchwing's mind. _This had not been Icestar's last life…_ Finchwing had never seen her leader lose a life before. Nor, it seemed, had many of the others…

A collective sigh of relief escaped from the watching cats. Only a few still seemed troubled. Finchwing heard an agitated murmur which she recognized as the medicine cat, Nightfall's, "Icestar has never taken this long to recover from the loss of a life before…"

The brown tabby raised his head, his dark gaze traveling the Clan cats around him. Looking down again, his gaze locked with Icestar's. His voice was threatening and menacing, and contained within it a note of foreboding which caused Finchwing to feel a surge of terror…

"Your reign is over, and mine begins."

And he sank his teeth into Icestar's throat.

Words are not enough to describe how Finchwing felt as she watched Icestar's final life leave him, watched the blood flow freely out of his throat from a fresh wound, watched her beloved leader and mentor take his last breath, his eyes glazing over for the last time, leaving his Clan forever. The realization spun through her numb brain: Icestar was gone, forever. He would be going to roam the starry skies at night, to watch over his Clan, to a place from which he could never returned, from which no cat could call him back. Yowls of horror sounded around her, the fight had long since ended… but now was not the time to dwell on her grief. That time would come soon, but not now. The brown tabby brought his head up, muzzle covered in Icestar's warm blood, and spoke again, baring his bloodstained teeth…

"Try anything, and death shall be your punishment."

He received no reply. A mixture of horror, grief, and terror left the WinterClan cats completely silent. He continued, "I am Stormteller, the Teller of the Tribe of Fallen Darkness. And now," he sneered, "You shall witness my reign of terror. You will work under my order, and if you oppose, you face the penalty of death."

"This is Rush, my second in command." Heads turned to the direction in which Stormteller flicked his tail, where a large brown tabby with similar dark eyes was standing. "You shall obey him as well – and any other Tribe cat who speaks to you."

Stormteller snarled. "Now, get into the camp."

Terrified, the WinterClan cats began to obediently file into the camp through the entrance tunnel. Thoughts whirled around in Finchwing's head, about Icestar's death, about this terrifying new group of cats called the Tribe of Fallen Darkness. It was all happening too quickly... it was so hard to believe that this was really happening, that her leader was gone... Stormteller's words repeated themselves in her head, as if etched into her brain…

"_Try anything, and death shall be your punishment._"


End file.
